


Rolling with the Rocks

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas in booty shorts, Coda for s12e5, Dirty Dancing, First Kiss, Rated Mature for heavy petting and curse words, awkward!Dean, jealous!Dean, no major spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: Team Free Will decides to do recon at the club Lucifer will be performing at. The work is normal, the night is young, and there's a pretty woman smiling at Dean. But when Castiel shows up in his club disguise, things change. *No major spoilers for s12. There is a brief mention of a new character, but he isn't important to the plot of the fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. It's been a hot minute since I wrote a fic. So have some slight sexy fun stuff!

There’s something about clubs that makes Dean’s skin crawl. He feels at home in bars, leaning against the cold laminate top with a beer in his hand. He knows his way around a strip club, the stench of sweat and money and booze as familiar as his aftershave. But yuppy clubs that play loud techno music Dean still can’t wrap his mind around, those are not his style. The underground club scene for teenagers who miss “the good old music” are also unsafe in Dean’s mind.

 

Dean stares at the entrance of The Core. The line is almost as big as the security guard. Dean leans against Baby, fists stuffed in the pockets of his black leather jacket as he scowls at the teens. Sam had gone to the alleys in search of a back door, leaving Dean to wait for Castiel. The angel had announced he would return in disguise, then disappeared with a ripple of energy.

 

Dean snorts at the memory and rolls his shoulders. He’d settled for a simple red v-neck and the jacket over one of his nicer pairs of jeans. The tight ones that fit his ass well. He can feel the curious glances of some of the people waiting in line and smirks. It’s been a little while since he’s been out somewhere like this, since before the confrontation with Amara and Chuck. Before Mary came back.

 

The thought of his mother makes his saliva taste sour. He wonders if she’s okay. He wonders if having her back is really the thing he needed most. He wonders when she’ll come back home. If she’ll ever think of him and Sam as home.

 

A low bass sound echoes in Dean’s ears, bringing him back to the present. He shakes his head. He’s got other things to think about. Scoping out Lucifer, for one. When a particularly attractive woman who appears to be older than 25 looks him up and down, he adds that as the second thing to think about. Sam would complain if Dean decided to take someone back to the motel room tonight, but dammit, he needs to get out some of this frustration. He’s been locked up in the bunker too long.

 

Dean smiles widely at the woman, pushing off the side of the Impala when a slight breeze tickles the back of his neck. Looking over his shoulder, he spots Cas on the other side of the car. In any other circumstance, it would have been a normal occurrence. But this time, it’s different.

 

The angel’s normally unruly curls look purposefully disheveled, the black color reflecting light in a way that suggests hair gel. It’s a small thing to notice, but it makes Dean stop his pursuit. He watches the angel walk around the Impala to join him, eyes growing wide.

 

Instead of the blue suit Cas has changed to recently, the angel wears a worn out shirt with Vincent’s band logo across the front. Just the fact the angel is wearing a t-shirt instead of a dress shirt is startling. But the shirt is paired with a leather jacket that’s definitely more form-fitting than a suit blazer. The sleeves of the jacket hug the shape of Castiel’s biceps so well that Dean actually notices that Castiel has really nice arms for the first time.

 

Dean’s about to admit that the disguise is a clever one when Cas comes fully into view. For a moment, Dean stops breathing. Where Dean has expected a pair of stolen jeans, a pair similar to the ones Dean and Sam chose to wear, Cas wears shorts. Not even normal knee-length shorts, but legitimate short shorts that hug the width of Castiel’s upper thighs. Dean’s jaw hangs open a little as he takes in the expanse of skin, surprised to find the muscles to be as toned as Castiel’s chest and arms. The angel shuffles his feet, drawing Dean’s attention to the red Chuck Taylor’s Castiel wears to complete the outfit.

 

“Where is Sam?” Cas asks, stopping next to Dean and examining the club. Dean stares blankly at Castiel’s face, blinking a few times to see if the image before him is even real. He takes a deep breath when he realizes how fast his heart is going.

 

“Jesus, man, you took the disguise thing seriously,” Dean mumbles, giving Castiel a once over again.

 

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow and his shoulders hunch a little. “Is it too much? I can go change. I thought this would be appropriate attire considering the venue.”

 

Dean shakes his head, then rubs the back of his neck. “No, Cas. Ya look fine.”

 

Cas’s lip quirks slightly up as he stands up straighter. “Are you sure? I wanted to blend in as much as possible.”

 

Dean nods, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a comment that Cas will definitely not blend in with that outfit. He clears his throat, shoving his fists back into his pockets. “Sam went to check the perimeter. Looks like we’re a day early.”

 

Cas sighs heavily, rocking on his feet. “This would be an opportune moment to scope the place out then. We should be aware of how out in the open we’ll be when we come to capture Lucifer.”

 

Dean agrees with a shrug, forcibly keeping his eyes away from the angel. He scans the line again, looking for the woman he’d spotted earlier. She’s at the head of the line now, watching him and Cas with a curious expression. When her eyes meet Dean’s, he smiles again to be sure to show his continued interest. Though, if he’s honest with himself, all he can seem to think about is the fact that a warrior of god, his best friend, decided to wear fucking booty shorts on a mission.

 

Without taking his eyes off the woman, he nods his head to the back of the line. “We should go ahead and start waiting to get in.”

 

Dean starts walking to the end of the line, boots thudding against the asphalt in a satisfying way. Dean may hate clubs, but he still takes up space, still demands looks. He gains confidence with each step despite the fact Cas follows him.

 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Sam?” Cas asks, looking at the people around them as they step into the line.

 

“Nah, he told me to go ahead n go in. I was just waitin for you.”

 

“Really? Why?” Cas tilts his head to the side, squinting at Dean. Somehow the look doesn’t look as comical as it does when he’s wearing his bulky trench coat. Dean offers a shrug.

 

“Figured you’d never been to a club n might need to be shown the ropes. Ya can’t just pop up in a club, Cas.”

 

“I had assumed as much, Dean. I am not as incompetent as you may think.”

 

Dean sighs through his nose, shifting on his feet as the line moves forward. “I know that, Cas. I just thought I’d wait. It’s polite, alright?”

 

Cas frowns, looking down at his shoes before nodding. “Thank you. That was considerate of you.”

 

Shrugging, Dean gives Cas the side eye. “You’re welcome, though you don’t look like you need help.”

 

The angel pulls at the front of his jacket and smiles a little. “I did some research last night. I wanted to be fully prepared. I read that clubs can be very fun.”

 

“If you call bumping into other sweaty, drunk bodies to shitty music a fun time, yeah,” Dean grumbles.

 

The line moves forward even more, and Dean feels the heat radiating from the door every time it opens. He bounces on his feet, ready to get in and find the woman if he has the time. He just hopes she doesn’t leave before they finish doing recon.

 

“Some people find sexual pleasure from such an environment, I suppose,” Cas says, voice level as he looks around them.

 

Dean chokes on air, then glares at the angel. “Jesus, Cas, you can’t just say shit like that.”

 

Cas raises an eyebrow at the hunter, following Dean when they take another step closer to the door. “Is that an incorrect assumption?”

 

“No… you just don’t say it out loud is all.” Dean checks the faces around them, but none of the patrons seem to have heard what the angel said. “Just… follow my lead when we get in there, okay? We’re here to get the info we need, then get the hell out.”

 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, crossing his arms over his chest and silently regarding the dark parking lot.

 

Dean gazes at the angel as they wait for a few more minutes. Castiel said that a lot. Of course. It wasn’t really an acquiescence. Castiel never has to follow the Winchesters’ instructions and he does choose to. But, somehow, every time he says it, Dean feels like it was him who gave up something. It makes Dean’s stomach flip uncomfortably, reminding him of the last time he heard it. The time he thought he’d never see his family again.

 

The thoughts get shaken from his mind when the security guard clears his throat. Dean turns a charming smile to the guy and steps up. He spreads his arms out, knowing that the spell Sam put on his gun will make it undetectable to the scanner. When the security guard claims him clean, Dean steps to the side. He looks inside the door, at the dull red and blue lights, at the constantly moving crowd, as he waits for Castiel to be scanned. He doesn’t look back to the angel until he hears the security guard talk again.

 

“Nice shorts, man.”

 

“Thank you,” Castiel responds, grinning at the man like he just won the lottery. Castiel glances at Dean, eyebrows both raised as if to say See? It works! But Dean’s heart pangs. His fists clench. He glares at the security guard, then snatches up Castiel’s hand.

 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean mutters, voice almost a growl. He tugs Castiel along with him as he shoves his way into the crowd. Cas’s eyebrows furrow, but he follows the hunter anyway.

 

Once at the outskirts of the dance floor, Dean drops Castiel’s hand.

 

“Dean? Are you alright?”

 

Dean nods stiffly. “Yeah, Cas. That guy just gave me the creeps.”

 

“Because he complimented my outfit?”

 

Dean stops examining the small club and gazes at his best friend. He opens his mouth to snap, to tell the angel to stop talking about it. Instead, he sighs. Castiel’s eyes are a little wide in curiosity and concern. “The guy was flirting, Cas. You just have to be careful.”

 

“I’m certain I can manage myself, Dean. Do not worry about me.” Cas’s voice is soft despite the fact he has to shout to talk to Dean. The angel doesn’t snap or sound sarcastic like he sometimes does when Dean questions his abilities. Instead, he sounds like he’s trying to comfort Dean. Dean swallows and nods.

 

This time, Dean can’t hold Cas’s gaze. So he starts scanning the room again. The bar lines the back wall, stools all taken by adults of various ages. There’s a short staircase that leads to some booths overlooking the dance floor. The wall across from Dean and Cas is swallowed by the stage. Between them and everything, is the dance floor, packed with people dancing to a pop song Dean barely recognizes. As he takes it all in, Dean tries to formulate a plan, but before he can, Cas already has one.

 

“If we dance through the crowd, we can see what’s above the stage. I can’t see it from here,” Cas says, mouth so close to Dean’s ear the hunter can feel the angel’s every breath. The light touch on Dean’s shoulder, right where the hand print scar used to be, makes Dean shiver. Dean wants to object, wants to claim that he doesn’t dance, that dancing is not a good idea. But he can’t see the ceiling either, can barely even see the stage. Again, Dean sighs, looking at people in his peripheral. He nods once to Castiel to show he agrees.

 

Dean tries to ignore the tiny smile on Castiel’s lips as the angel takes his hand and pulls them into the mass of people. Within seconds, people a decade younger than him are grinding against him. Arms and hands and legs and asses and backs touch him everywhere. Everywhere but the hand Castiel holds tightly.

 

Even as a teenager, Dean hated dancing. He went to dances to get drunk and get lucky. Dean’s been the recipient of many a dance, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to move besides rolling his hips against someone or shuffling from one foot to the other. Castiel, however, falls into the beat of the heavy bass easily.

 

Still holding Dean’s hand, Cas puts his arms in the air, twisting his hips with the melody. His blue eyes flash, reflecting the lights. Dean stands still, watching as the angel melts into the music as if the sound waves actually vibrate from his very bones. Cas jumps in time with the people around them, squeezing Dean’s hand to coax him into doing the same. Dean rolls his eyes before he’s shoved against Castiel’s chest. The angel laughs when Dean grunts and tries to jump back. Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, keeping him close. Cas has to practically shout for his words to be heard.

 

“You’re supposed to dance, Dean.”

 

“Not something I'm good at, Cas,” Dean admits, looking at the men and women grinding against each other around them.

 

Cas frowns as if he doubts such a statement is true. He looks like he's going to start an argument, but then his face lights up with an idea. The angel turns on his heel so his back is to Dean's chest. Castiel puts the hand he still holds on his hip, pressing Dean's palm into the bone to make a point. Dean squeezes to show his understanding and puts his other hand on Castiel’s other hip. Normally, Dean would object. Hell, he's half tempted to pull away, to try and navigate his way out of the crowd and to the bar. But when Cas starts dancing again, it's like Dean's boots are glued to the floor.

 

The hunter watches as Cas moves his hips from one side to the other, following the alternating beat of the song. Cas takes a step forward as he moves, and Dean follows. With Cas simply gyrating to the beat, they cut their way to the center of the dance floor. Here, the dancers are bolder. They press closer to one another, roll their hips harder, sigh loudly knowing they'll go unheard. Dean watches a couple rock against each other in a way that is too aggressive to not be sexual and blushes. He focuses his gaze on the back of Castiel’s head instead, trying to ignore the fact Castiel’s ass keeps brushing the front of his jeans just enough to get his blood pumping.

 

Dean doesn't want to admit that he forgot the reason they had pushed to the center, but is thankful when he remembers. He's about to look up to examine the ceiling when Cas grinds back against Dean. The hunter gasps at the new friction against his crotch and bites his lip. Reaching back, Castiel strokes a hand through Dean's hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. Dean whimpers, hoping the sound is hidden by the song. Castiel takes the opportunity to lean his head back against Dean's shoulder. Dean freezes and Cas turns his head to talk to Dean.

 

“Dance, you're too stiff.”

 

Dean shudders at the breath against his ear and the continued pressure against his jeans. The words make him move, but each touch feels increasingly more awkward. He's got a somewhat of a hard on while dancing with Castiel. Castiel, naive angel warrior that has saved his ass more times that he can count. Castiel, who for some reason, is really fucking good at dancing. Or grinding at least. Dean shuffles his feet to match Castiel’s swaying, reminding himself that he's doing it for appearances and not because an angel's ass is sending shocks of desire through him.

 

“There's a catwalk above the stage,” Cas says, using his grip on Dean's hair to keep the hunter close enough to hear. Dean flushes when a slight shift of his feet makes Cas accidentally tug on his hair. He stares ahead when Cas let's go of his hair, examining the stage.

 

Swallowing, Dean huffs through his nose. If Castiel can dance like this and still be professional, so can he. He drags his lips against the skin of Castiel’s neck, keeping enough distance to avoid full on kissing the angel. If Castiel’s breath hitches, Dean doesn’t feel it. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the stage.

 

“The stage is partially blocked off from the crowd. Ropes puttin about a foot of distance between the edge n the floor.”

 

Castiel nods minutely, his own gaze focused on the other dancers. One woman drags her hands down her torso as she swivels her hips, taking her partner's hands and dragging them up her abdomen.

 

“Security around the ropes ‘ll probably be more strict tomorrow,” Dean says, bottom lip catching on Castiel's earlobe. The minute touch makes them both tense for a moment. But Castiel keeps dancing, not missing a beat as he mimics the woman he saw.

 

When the angel places his fingers over Dean's, the hunter tightens his grip on Castiel’s hips. His heart pangs again and he wonders if he'll survive the rest of the night. He rolls his own hips in time with Castiel's, trusting the angel to be in time with the beat.

 

Glancing at Castiel, Dean notices that his blue eyes aren't open anymore. Instead, Cas’s eyes are closed, expression relaxed as they rock together. Castiel's cheeks are flushed, a color Dean only sees when the lights swing in his favor. Cas bends his knees, pressing his ass back against Dean and sliding up. Dean's breath shudders.

 

Castiel pulls at one of Dean's hands, sliding the hunter's palm over his stomach and to his chest. He squeezes Dean's hand, urging Dean on. The music pounds in Dean's ears, forces its way into his bloodstream. All he can smell is sweat and Cas. He licks his lips, wondering if he can taste the ozone crackling around the angel.

 

When Cas leans his torso forward so those fucking shorts graze his jeans with more force, Dean throws caution into the wind. He pulls Cas closer and presses his face against Castiel's neck. If he's finally going to admit that he wants this, if he's going to finally allow himself to be close, there's going to be no distance between them. No more flying away. No more stepping away. Dean thrusts forward, hoping he's on beat. Cas hums, the only thing giving the sound away is the vibration resonating in the angel's chest. Dean growls in response, doing the motion again.

 

Cas tilts his head back as the song changes. Underneath the fluttering bass and melody, a man sings about being closer. Dean finds it fitting as he tries to move closer to the angel. The two men get lost in the song, in each other. It's not until a stranger bumps into Dean and throws off their rhythm that they both stop.

 

Dean blinks, staring at the drunk woman as she rights herself without apologizing. Castiel stops dancing, looking at the woman as well. When she melts back into the crowd, Dean's eyes look to Castiel. The angel pants slightly, cheeks flushed deeper. Blue eyes lock onto his and Dean's heart drops.

 

Without a word, Dean turns and starts shoving his way off the dance floor. He can't hear the music. He feels cold without Cas next to him. He can't breathe. It's like something broke inside him and now whatever confidence he had is gone. He was dancing with Cas. Grinding against his best friend. Dean had accepted his bisexuality ages ago, but to admit he had feelings for the angel has not been on his to-do list.

 

Breaking free of the dance floor, Dean stumbles past the bar. There's a door beside the bar, and he opens that to get into the open air. He leans against the outside wall as the door slams shut. He takes a shaky breath as he tries to calm his heart and push his ideas aside. Even if he could admit his feelings for Castiel, that doesn't mean the angel would want a relationship with Dean. Or even a relationship in general.

 

Eyes closed, Dean keeps taking deep breaths as he tries to calm down. A soft breeze tickles his cheeks. Dean opens his eyes and Castiel stands in front of him, still wearing those ridiculous shorts and a concerned look on his face. Dean gasps when he sees how close the angel is to him.

 

“Dean, are you alright?”

 

Dean blushes, holding his hands over his mouth to hide the fact he gasped. When he realizes how ridiculous a gesture it is, he rubs his lips, then drops his hands. “Yeah, man. Just needed some air.”

 

Castiel tilts his head to the side and steps closer. He fingers twitch as if he wants touch Dean, to alleviate the hunter’s pain. “I… apologize if my movements caused you any sort of discomfort. I did not intend for my dancing to continue when unnecessary.”

 

Dean glances back and forth between Castiel's eyes. The angel looks sincere, arms shaking slightly as he waits for Dean's response. Licking his lips, Dean rubs his palms on his jeans. “You’re really fuckin good at it, at least.”

 

The angel blinks, then tilts his head. “At dancing?”

 

Glancing down, Dean nods. He stares at Castiel’s stupid Chuck Taylor’s, hoping his vision will stop swimming. Hoping the angel will back away and just forget it happened.

 

Instead, Castiel steps closer. He places a hand on Dean’s cheek, palm soft against the curve of Dean’s jaw. Dean’s eyes flash upward. The angel’s body hovers next to his. The inch of space feels more like a football field now that he’s been flush against Cas.

 

“So, you enjoyed it?”

 

Castiel’s pupils are dark. They swallow every light around them, swallow Dean. He opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the words to deny his friend’s accusation. After a couple of moments, Dean clenches his jaw. “Yeah, I did.”

 

The grin that graces Castiel’s lips then is beautiful enough to outshine the sun. It surpasses everything Dean’s seen, even Heaven, even angel grace. Castiel strokes his thumb over Dean’s cheek, and the hunter’s heart skips a beat.

 

“I think I understand why humans find sexual pleasure from dancing like that,” Castiel says, the angel searching Dean’s eyes as he speaks.

 

“Yeah, it can be pretty hot,” Dean offers weakly. His mouth goes dry. Cas still strokes his cheek. The heat from Castiel hits him in waves, makes his skin raise in goosebumps.

 

Unable to breathe with the tension between them, Dean tilts his chin outward. He glances at Castiel’s lips. He relaxes under Castiel’s touch. The hunter’s never been the kind of person to ask to be kissed. He always initiates. But tonight, he feels unsteady on his feet.

 

And Castiel has always been there to support him.

 

The angel’s smile softens as his gaze flicks about his charge’s face. Castiel slowly leans in, taking his time answering the silent prayer pulsing through his mind. When their lips connect, Dean’s conscious bursts out again. The wall is cold and hard against his back. Castiel is hot above him. The bass bangs even through the wall. Castiel’s heart bangs under the skin of his hand.

 

Music there to guide him again, Dean reaches for the angel. He pulls Castiel’s hips to him. Chest to chest now, Dean sighs into the kiss. He tilts his head, loving the way Cas breaks the kiss so he can go back in. It happens over and over, their lips connect, their bodies jolt, they separate. It happens until Dean whimpers, digging his fingers into the meat of Castiel’s waist. The angel lets out a soft moan, then licks the seam of Dean’s mouth. He grazes his teeth against Dean’s bottom lip. The hunter opens himself up to his best friend.

 

Cas is slow, gentle, as he explores Dean’s mouth. Without much more ceremony, Castiel rolls his hips against Dean’s crotch. Dean arches into the touch, a gasp escaping his throat. Cas smiles as he repeats the motion. Kissing Cas with more fervor, Dean meets the small thrusts. His hands move from the angel’s hips to his ass. Dean squeezes, lets his fingers trail down to wear fabric ends and skin begins. Castiel pushes his ass back into Dean’s hands.

 

Each movement becomes heavier, more aggressive. They both pant, cheeks even more flushed. Dean’s thankful for the slightly chilly air. He feels like all of his skin is on fire and shivers every time Castiel rocks against him. Their soft moans hide under the music leaking from the club. Dean groans, the zipper of his jeans pressing uncomfortably on his hard-on. But he allows it to continue, holding Cas against him for as long as possible as they make out.

 

Castiel’s hands still frame Dean’s face when the angel finally pulls away. The hunter whines softly at the sudden absence and Cas smiles before kissing him softly again.

 

“We should find Sam and head back to the motel,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s lips.

 

Dean slides his hands up Castiel’s back as he opens his eyes. The angel looks as fucked up as he does, chest heaving, eyes dark, lips swollen. The hunter nods and smiles. “We got a nice, warm bed waitin for us.”

 

Castiel matches Dean’s smile as he steps back. As Cas turns to walk back into the club, Dean squeezes Castiel’s ass.

 

“These really are nice shorts.”


End file.
